Safe and Silent
by Searching4sanity
Summary: John has to save his sons. Very dark AU, don't read if you can't handle the death of children.


AN: Greetings. So yeah, haven't update any of my stories-SORRY ABOUT THAT and I really can't promise anything, once again deepest apologies. But then I watched Torchwood (Oh the FEELS!:) and wrote this. A companion piece of sorts to 'Like A Dog', VERY dark, don't read if you can't handle VERY depressing fics. Abusive!John but not in the standard way. Also, AU in case you can't tell :D Anyways, leave a review please! But most of all, thanks for reading!

John's glower bounces off his son's tanned skin, the boy's boot thumping as he shifts against the spotted carpet. Spotted with what John doesn't want to know.

Damn kid won't stop wriggling. The oldest Winchester suspects it's something to do with being sixteen, the spiky blond hair gleaming under the sun sliding past the blinds, the newly acquired leather jacket hanging off his thin shoulders like brown cliffs.

" What brought you home so early, Dad?" Dean asks, head cocked in curiosity, but green eyes gleaming with hunger. His chest billows at that spark, that drive. _He'll need it... _

" Just wanted to see my boys." He offers a half grin, copied straight from his son, and shrugs. Except it's not really him, he thinks. His muscles leap and jump, one hand slapping Dean on the shoulder, his lips asking if anything happened while he was gone.

But it's not John.

Or at least that's what he prays as he unloads his own leather jacket onto a scratched chair.

" So, did you get it?" The question smacks him, dragging a response away from his brain. He fixes Dean with narrowed, red eyes,

" What?"

" Whatever you were hunting... did you get it?" And John wants to laugh.

How he wishes it had got him.

" Yeah, son, I did. Vengeful spirit, easy salt n' burn." The lies spring from his tongue, posing and twirling in the musty air, swirling past the fast food dinners and exhaustion that seems to haunt every motel they find.

" Cool. So what do you want for dinner?"

_Give them a last dinner. Something nice. Steak. Laughter. _

But his head shakes instead, " Hold on, Dean. Stopped by a clinic on the way home." And his hips twist, fingers hunting through the pockets as his lips hiss strangled words, " Sam, come on over here. Flu season's comin', don't need you boys getting sick."

The plastic's cold, he realizes, shivers crawling down his spine, stirring the bile bubbling in his stomach. But he plasters a smile and raises one syringe, just able to still his trembling hands.

Until Sammy walks in from the bathroom, dragging his wet hands across Dean's old AC/DC t-shirt, the dark fabric cloaking the boy in darkness but all John can see are billowing eyes without any shadows crinkling to make room for the sparkling grin beneath.

" Hey Dad!" And while he knows, if life were fair, Sammy will growl and yell at him given three minutes, John Winchester's heart stutters at that goddamn innocence. He returns a watered down smile, the syringe collapsing, he can't do this, won't do this. He'll find a way, keep Sammy safe, keep him human...

_It'll kill him long before you get the chance... do it now while he's still him... _

One eye catches on Dean, the bags beneath his eyes suddenly vanished, a grin that matches any picture of Mary Winchester ripping his face in half, reserved only for Sammy.

And the hand raises back up, the fake smile back in place.

Sammy's all ready contaminated. His job was to save his one remaining son.

" All right, Dean. You first." The blond rolls his sleeves back and permits the needle to snap his skin with nothing more than an eye roll and a 'Do I get a lollipop now, doc?'. John smacks the back of his head and the boy shrugs, that awful smirk returning.

The plastic screeches as it crumbles into the trash bin, warning them, cursing him. The next syringe numbs John's fingertips as Sammy perches in the chair, rubbing his arm, eyes narrowed at the liquid inside and John freezes, wondering how he could know._ I'm too late..._

And then Dean remarks from a double bed, " Chillax, Sammy. It'll only kill you slowly and painfully." John chokes back vomit as his youngest laughs, eyes forced shut by the music pouring out of his mouth.

_Demons laugh too..._ He reminds himself as the needle slides under arms just beginning to form muscle. He tries to smile at Sammy, he really does, in those last seconds before those burning eyes crumble, the clouds rolling in and John wraps his arms around the boy's tumbling head, tears dampening fuzzy hair that tickles his cheeks.

Dean's screaming somewhere but Sammy's silent.

And safe.


End file.
